Elder Scrolls: The Black Anvil
by WWIIbeast1945
Summary: A year following the events of Atmora, Bjorn Frosthammer and his friends are plunged into a mysterious and dangerous new world. After a terrifying accident at the College of Winterhold, the three are cast out of Mundus and find themselves trapped in the Black Anvil, the final resting place of the Dwarves of Tamriel, desperate to stop what could very well be the end of the world.
1. History in the Making

Chapter 1

_History in the Making_

Bjorn's footsteps clattered through the streets of Solitude, the afternoon sun rising over Castle Dour. The crimson flags emblazoned with the Haafingar Wolf drifted lazily in the autumn wind, just chilled enough to put Bjorn in his weathered fur coat. He never left home without it, and the thought that it would finally be done in here instead of on the bitter plains of Atmora made him smile.

After the events on Atmora a year ago, the College had made no formal attempt to contact him again. Bjorn kept his silence, and to the College, he was still just a sellsword and a nobody. Not worth their time, apparently. However, the College was always prominent in Bjorn's mind, and he would write to a particular student there twice a week. For the past year, Bjorn and Mariah had maintained nearly constant contact, and he was always fascinated with the work she was doing. The papers by Arniel Gane and Calcecemo in Markarth offered vast insight into the Dwemer disappearance, and it seemed she and her assistant, Pyric Thorne, got closer and closer to a breakthrough with every letter.

Today's mail was a bit unusual, however. One was a letter from the Captain of the Solitude Guard calling him to the prison at his earliest convenience; someone had requested a word with him. The other letter was from Mariah, but it was unlike any Bjorn had gotten previously. Her detailed descriptions and beautiful handwriting were replaced with a few short statements hastily scrawled on the parchment:

_Bjorn_

_Something amazing has happened._

_Need to see you. Come to Winterhold as soon as possible._

_Mariah_

Once more, Bjorn was Winterhold-bound, but he decided to stop at the Castle before he left to see what was so important. The sturdy stone gateway passed over him, and the sound of the marketplace chatter was replaced with the clashing of swords as the guards tested their arm in the courtyard. Many of them greeted Bjorn as he passed by. After Atmora, it was easy to forget that back here in Skyrim, the Frosthammer family was practically royalty. Currently, Bjorn's mother and father were on business in Cyrodiil, negotiating a shifty arrangement with merchants from Blackmarsh. This, in effect, made Bjorn the most powerful person in Solitude, with the exception of the High Queen.

The door to the prison groaned open and the outside light poured into the dim room. The guard at the desk stood up in objection, but upon recognizing Bjorn, simply waved him through to the cells. Within, the Captain of the Guard stood motionless in front of the nearest cell. He nodded sternly before gesturing towards the cage.

"This prisoner here says he knows you. Figured we'd get you in here to confirm this."

Bjorn took a step closer but couldn't see inside yet. "I need details. What can you tell me about him?"

"Dunmer. Auburn hair, and an attitude as sharp as a dagger. Remarkably high endurance, and quiet as a mouse... when he wants to be."

"Open the gate. I have a feeling that I do indeed know him."

The cell door creaked open and the Dunmer turned to Bjorn. A huge grin cracked across his face and he laughed jovially, throwing his arms out wide.

"If it isn't Bjorn Frosthammer!" the Dunmer chuckled, stepping closer with an outstretched hand.

Bjorn approached and shook it firmly, his smile just as wide.

"If it isn't the famed Drenyir Yamarith. What trouble have you gotten yourself into now?"

Drenyir winked and raised his voice so the Captain could hear him. "I killed a chicken. Apparently that's punishable by death. What have you been up to?"

"I'm actually heading out to see Mariah at the College. Something important has come up. Care to join?"

Drenyir smiled, presenting his chained wrists. "Would love to, but sadly, I'm not going anywhere."

"Nonsense! Captain, he's free to go. I'll pay his bail."

The Captain heaved a heavy sigh and unchained the Dunmer, motioning towards the door. Drenyir and Bjorn left gladly, leaving the Captain standing in the cell, disgruntled, with a small pouch of gold jingling quietly in his hands.

Drenyir inhaled the outside air deeply before walking out towards the marketplace with Bjorn in tow. "Nice to get out of there. The guards got used to my banter pretty quickly."

"How long did they keep you?" Bjorn asked, matching the Dunmer's pace.

"Two days. I spent weeks on Atmora with you. You think they could hold me here? Nah."

"Why didn't you mention me earlier?"

"I was havin' fun, believe it or not. But I got bored once the guards started ignorin' me though. Figured you'd be my way out."

"Well I was. I didn't have to be, you know."

Drenyir burst into laughter. "Ha! Like you could stand livin' here with me off the streets."

Bjorn clapped him on the back. "Sadly, you're not wrong."

The two left Solitude, heading down the road to the Frosthammer private carriage. The sunlight glistened off the bay; ships heading in and out of the port. Drenyir climbed into the carriage, sitting down across from Bjorn, who was giving instructions to the driver.

"So we're going to Winterhold again, are we? Seeing Mariah?" Drenyir asked, stroking his goatee inquisitively.

"Thats the plan. She says it's important."

"Why else would she want you there unless it was dire?"

"Maybe because we're engaged to be married? Your sarcasm hasn't been dulled at all, my friend. But I'm not sure. What could be so dangerous about research like this?"

"You never know. Hear about that Arniel Gane guy? He was doin' the same work; up and disappeared one day. No one knows where he went."

"I had heard about that. Mariah's assistant, Pyric Thorne, was his apprentice before he disappeared. Perhaps he knows something about all this."

"Is it possible to have a normal adventure anymore?"

"What have you been doing the last year? Was none of it considered normal?"

Drenyir thought for a moment before shrugging, defeated. "I guess being the town fletcher and spending days out in the wilderness hunting game for the market could be _considered_ normal."

"That's what I thought. You love the adventure. Thats why you agreed to come along."

Drenyir leaned back and closed his eyes. "Your perception is impeccable, Frosthammer. That's also why I wound up in jail. Just wanted a little excitement is all. Wake me when we get there, would you? The man in the next cell snored every night."

Bjorn watched the Dunmer doze off before taking a moment to admire his surroundings. Upon returning to Skyrim, Bjorn remained within the walls of Solitude, writing his memoirs or practising with Godbane. It had been over a year since he traveled these roads, and it reminded him just how breathtaking northern Skyrim was. Shining ocean and a constant dusting of snow accented the sparse forests and mountains rising from the ground that brushed the clouds. Bjorn reclined and watched the sun set over the Sea of Ghosts, thinking back to Atmora and what the future held for the lost continent. Would it ever be like this again? His thoughts turned to dreams as the rocking of the carriage carried him to sleep.

* * *

Bjorn was roused by an insessant kicking on his leg. When his eyes cracked open, they revealed an irritated dark elf swearing under his breath. Bjorn sat up and looked around. The quiet town of Winterhold was bathed in the light of the full moons, with a gentle snow drifting lazily on the wind. Drenyir's eyes rolled back and he threw his hands up as he stepped off the carriage.

"You were supposed to wake me when we got here! Look who had to do the waking!"

Bjorn stood up and jumped off the carriage, double-checking that Godbane still rested at his side. "Complain all you want. We're here at least."

"I will complain. You snore too."

After a short walk from the carriage, the two stood at the gates to the College's bridge. Despite the time of night, Faralda still stood outside, prepared to test anyone with the audacity to approach the College. The Altmer cast a judgemental gaze at the two before her and prompted a simple question.

"Welcome to the College of Winterhold. Albeit very.. very late. Why should you be allowed entry to this institution?"

Drenyir cocked his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Bjorn pushed him out of the way before whatever sarcastic comment he had in mind ruined their chance of getting inside. Faralda focused her eyes on Bjorn, who remained level-headed as he explained his situation.

"We're here to see Mariah Valentino, a student here studying the dwarven disappearance and it's possible relationship to advanced magicks. She wrote to me saying it was rather urgent, and that I had to come immediately."

Faralda put her hands on her hips and looked at him quizzically for a moment. "Yes, I am aware of Ms. Valentino's work. I suppose I could let you in, so long as you remain under constant supervision. Tell me, Nord... you seem familiar. Have you been to the College before?"

Bjorn put his head down just low enough to hide his smile from Faralda. "No, ma'am. I have never set foot inside those walls."

Drenyir scoffed, but Faralda ignored him. She pushed open the gate and gestured for them to follow her across the bridge. Bjorn remembered this walk and how uneasy it made him feel. Despite the rigid stone walkway surviving the Great Collapse and years of harsh weather, he could swear that the bridge was moments from crumbling beneath his feet. Nothing about the courtyard had changed, with the gate still swinging open on approach and the Candlelights floating like Elder moths over the braziers. Faralda stopped them in the center.

"I will go into the Hall of Countenance and summon Ms. Valentino. Disregard my comment about constant surveillance, Mr. Frosthammer. Don't look so surprised, of course I recognized you. I'll be right back.

Faralda disappeared into the hall and left Bjorn with Drenyir in the courtyard. The few moments passed in silence before Faralda returned with a sleep-deprived Mariah, desperately clutching dozens of scrolls that started fluttering in the night wind. When the last piece of parchment was secured in a small chest, Mariah looked up and grinned wildly. Dropping the chest, she ran to Bjorn, throwing her arms around him. After a moment, she backed off and cleared her throat, returning to a facade of professionalism. However, the sparkle of pure happiness still glimmered in her eyes. Mariah turned to Faralda and nodded, dismissing her. The Altmer turned back to the bridge, leaving the three alone in the courtyard. After Faralda had disappeared, Mariah turned back to Bjorn. She took a moment to search for the words.

"Bjorn.. its so good to see you again. I've missed you, my love."

Bjorn pulled her into another embrace. "You've gotten all my letters?"

"I've read every one. Kept them next to my research all year. Reminded me what I had to come back to."

The two held each other in silence for a few minutes, enjoying each other's presence. The moment was quickly broken by Drenyir's foot tapping impatiently.

"Nice to see you too, Mariah. It's been awhile," he joked, taking a step closer. Mariah let go of Bjorn and turned to the Dunmer, who stood with his arms crossed in melodramatic frustration.

"Of course I didn't forget about you, Drenyir," she admitted, placing her hands on her hips. "Never before have a met a bigger smartass that can shoot a bow so perfectly."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Bjorn tapped her shoulder, returning her attention to the task at hand. "You said you had something in the works? Something urgent?"

Mariah thought for a moment before her eyes lit up in realization. "Thats right, thats right! Thank you, Bjorn. I was... distracted. Let me grab my notes. Follow me."

After grabbing the chest she dropped earlier, Mariah motioned for them to follow her towards the Hall of Elements. Just before the door, however, Mariah made a sharp left, leading them to a small hatch tucked away in the corner, blanketed in shadow and snow. She grabbed the handle and pulled it open, a harrowing wind escaping the cavern below.

"What is this?" Bjorn asked, peering down into the darkness.

"The Midden," Mariah answered, dropping the box down the hatch. "A cave system that runs beneath the College." She took a few steps down the ladder before looking up. "Lots of dangerous magic down here."

Bjorn and Drenyir exchanged worried looks before following the Imperial down into the tunnels. The walls were thick with ice and old brick, with recently-lit sconces lighting the way down the winding paths. Mariah walked briskly, drifting expertly through the tunnels, with Bjorn and Drenyir stumbling behind her, trying to keep up. Eventually, Mariah stopped in front of an old, worn door with an eerie blue glow around its edges. She knocked lightly, and an ethereal voice drifted through the door.

_"Who waits outside on this night?"_

Mariah spoke to the door, addressing the voice inside. "Mariah Valentino and friends, coming to work on my..." she stopped for a moment, trying to think of the right word. "Project."

_"Ah yes. Your assistant is already inside. I will provide whatever aid I can, Ms. Valentino."_

The door swung open, revealing nothing but a large basin of shimmering blue liquid. At the far end of the room, a dwemer contraption stood next to a cluttered desk. A figure stood over the desk, intensely studying a dwemer lexicon. Drenyir looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. "Who was that?" he asked, still scanning the room.

"The Auger," Mariah replied, moving towards the desk. "The Auger has been an invaluable asset... after we figured out just how to communicate with him."

"But who is he?"

Mariah turned and shot Drenyir a sly smile. "It'd ruin the mystery if I told you that, wouldn't it?"

The pool shimmered brighter, a small orb appearing above the basin. _"My origin has been lost to history. Only I remember what became of me. This is how I'd like it to remain."_

When the three arrived at the workstation, Mariah began unpacking her notes from the chest. The man over the dwemer lexicon looked disheveled, with dirty robes covered in patches from multiple repairs. He was a Breton, with a head of long black hair, grimy and knotted in many places, that hung down past his shoulders. He was absolutely motionless, silently staring at the runed cube in front of him. As Mariah closed the empty chest, he turned towards Bjorn and Drenyir. He spoke, his voice deep and clear.

"Two figures. A Nord and a Dunmer. Friends of yours, I presume?"

Bjorn noticed his eyes were white and glazed over, his face covered in burn scars. This man was blind. Mariah stepped to Bjorn's side and introduced them.

"Yes, they would be my friends. Pyric, this is Bjorn Frosthammer of Solitude."

Bjorn outstretched his hand, which Pyric shooked without hesitation.

"And this Dunmer behind me is Drenyir Yamarith, from Raven Rock."

Drenyir nodded in acknowledgment, which Pyric returned.

"Bjorn, Drenyir.. this is Pyric Thorne, or Pyric the Unseeing."

Pyric bowed, before smiling warmly. "It is truly my pleasure to meet such interesting individuals. Mariah has told me much about each of you."

Drenyir cocked his head curiously. "The Unseeing?" he restated, stroking his goatee. "How'd you get that name?"

Pyric merely shook his head and started walking towards the Dwemer contraption next to the desk. "That is a story for another time," he mumbled, equipping an ornate Dwemer gauntlet before placing a small crystal dagger from his satchel on the contraption. "But I will admit, I am blind. But my vision is still impeccable. I can detect the magic aura of things around me, whether living or inanimate. Therefore, I can still create an accurate depiction of my surroundings."

Bjorn took a moment to study the contraption. It was oddly reminiscent of an Oblivion gate, but made of bronze and dwemer metals. Protrusions jutted out into the center with sparks jumping between them. Standing about eight feet tall, the contraption as a whole stood on a metal pedestal that rose up like a staircase. The small dagger rested in a transparent dwarven convector, glowing slightly.

Mariah joined Pyric next to the contraption, turning a small crank, making the machine spark violently. "His condition hasn't affected his work as a Conjuration student at all," she explained, taking a step back from the machine. "But shall we show you what was so important?"

Pyric placed his hands behind his back, pacing like an instructor would. "It has taken hundreds of years of research," he began, gesturing as he talked, "but the combined efforts of Dwemer scholars across Tamriel have led to this moment. By studying some of the most advanced dwarven technology, we have finally discovered where the Deep Ones have gone. Following the war at Red Mountain thousands of years ago, the collective race of Dwemer vanished from Tamriel in First Era, 700. Many believed them dead. But some of the more radical scholars hypothesized that the race was transported to a different dimension by the Kings and scientists of their race. A burst of magicka emanated from the capital, Volenfell, using the other city's exposed spires as conduits to keep the field charged, and any Mer with Dwemer blood was teleported to this dimension once the burst collided with them. This crystal dagger is Keening, the legendary weapon wielded by the Nerevarine to destroy the Heart of Lorkhan. It has been passed down from Dwarves to Men to Mer, hero to hero, before finally coming into the hands of my late teacher, Arniel Gane."

"It is true, he disappeared a few years ago, but to where was unknown. At the site of his disappearance, we found scorch marks etched into ground, and this dagger. Following his notes and his schematics, we know that Arniel Gane built one of these contraptions in secret, but upon opening the portal, the machine imploded on itself, dragging the machine and my master into whatever dimension lay beyond. What Gane failed to do in his rush for answers was calibrate the energy that the contraption drew from Keening. Too much and the machine will implode, too little and it will fail to conjure a portal. Mariah and I have used the dagger as a conduit for this contraption, which we believe, when correctly calibrated, will function as a key to open a portal to a dimension between Nirn and Aetherius, seeing as Keening has spilt the blood of Dwemer and gods alike. Today, we plan on opening this portal to see if what we hypothesize is true._ If_ the contraption works, it will create a portal, not unlike one we conjure to summon daedric beasts, that we can use as a window into their world."

Mariah rested her hand on a lever, glancing towards Pyric. The Breton turned to Bjorn and Drenyir. "Are you two ready to experience history?"

Bjorn nodded, as did Drenyir.

"Fantastic," exclaimed Pyric, clapping his hands together. "Mariah, start the machine."

Keening began to glow as soon as Mariah pulled the lever. The machine began shaking violently, sparks crackling off of the spires. In the center of the arch, a small violet swirl began to form as a slight breeze circulated through the room. Keening shook vigorously in it's convector, shining as bright as any Magelight. The swirl spread to the edges of the arch, the machine shaking more intensely. Pyric took a step closer, waiting for the final moment. Bjorn, Mariah and Drenyir, however, took a cautious step back. The sparks became full-blown lightning chains, the wind in the room turning into frightening gusts. The notes on the desk scattered into the wind, circulating around the room. Suddenly, the Auger's voice returned, some alarm apparent in his ethereal voice.

_"Mr. Thorne, I suggest disabling the device. A dangerous amount of magical aura is being formed, emanating from the portal."_

Pyric turned to the Auger's basin, his hair whipping violently in the gusts. "No!" he shouted, stepping away from the contraption. "I won't stop when I'm so close!"

Bjorn noticed the convector that held Keening had begun to crack, Keening's light shining unhindered through the fractures. The metal arch began to contort and twist, being drawn into the portal. As Pyric continued to argue with the Auger, Mariah and Drenyir rushed to the lever on the device in a desperate effort to destroy the gate. The convector shattered, leaving Keening floating inches above the ground, beginning to steam with energy. The lever refused to budge.

"Bjorn!" shouted Mariah, continuing to tug on the switch. "Take out the conduit! Get rid of Keening!"

Pyric turned back to the portal, his face twisted with fear. "Get away from that machine!"

Bjorn's fingers wrapped around Keening as he prepared to yank it out. But as his hand made contact, he was immediately assailed by an incredible pain. His fingers gripped the hilt, unable to let go. Bjorn felt like he was on fire, every part of him burning with agony. Bjorn threw his head back and screamed, the pain becoming unbearable. The metal surrounding the gate finally gave way and broke, disappearing into the void.

"It's going to implode!"

Suddenly, all went quiet as the void pulled in Bjorn, Mariah, Drenyir and Pyric, leaving the Auger's room silent and empty. The contraption disappeared, leaving nothing but scorch marks on the ground, the notes fluttering gently to the stone floor.


	2. Wrath of the ForgeLord

Chapter 2

_Wrath of the ForgeLord_

Bjorn, Mariah, Drenyir and Pyric were thrown from the void, sending them sprawling out across the ground. It was hard and unforgiving; jet black and smooth as ice. There was no grass, or plants of any kind. When Bjorn stood up, he took in his surroundings. The world was composed of an innumerable amount of obsidian chunks, floating mystically above a swirling abyss. Each landmass was linked together by bridges and massive bronze chains, with incredible dwarven buildings dotting each floating stone. There was no wind on Bjorn's face, nor the warmth of sunlight. The atmosphere was not unlike a cave or dungeon: always the same temperature, no wind... perfectly still, frozen in time.

Bjorn's hand immediately flashed to his hip, praying to Talos that Godbane still hung in it's scabbard. Thankfully, the golden sword still rested at his side, undamaged by the void. At his feet rested the crystal dagger, Keening, still glowing faintly as it's charge faded. He picked it up carefully, but this time no pain came to him. Rather than ponder the reason why, he quickly placed it in his pack.

After righting himself, Bjorn made his way over to the other three. Pyric was still lying on the ground, unmoving. Drenyir had begun to stand, and Mariah was already sitting up, taking notes on the situation. "Is everyone alright?" Bjorn asked, pulling Drenyir to his feet.

"Alright? _Alright?_" Drenyir shouted, throwing his arms out in frustration. "We're trapped in this godsforsaken world without a clue where we are, and its all because of this_ n'wah!_"

He gestured towards the Breton, who was just beginning to lift himself from the ground. Drenyir stormed over to him, swiftly kicking him the ribs, knocking Pyric back to the ground.

"Hear me, Thorne?" he shouted, grabbing Pyric by the collar and hoisting him to his feet. "This is _your_ fault!"

Pyric said nothing, shamefully gazing down at his feet as he wavered in place.

"You better thank _Arkay_ I don't put a damn arrow through your eye for this!"

Mariah stood up and approached Drenyir, resting her hand gently on his shoulder. "Calm down, Drenyir," she soothed, pulling the Dark Elf away from Pyric. "Being angry now isn't going to help us get anywhere."

He heaved a sigh and brushed her hand off his shoulder. "You're right... you're right. So.. what should we do now?"

Bjorn walked over to the edge of their piece of rock, searching for the chains that anchored theirs to the main cluster. Each link was about as big as Bjorn, groaning lightly as they swayed above the void.

"I don't much like it..." he began, taking a step closer to the edge. "But we could climb this chain up to that rock over there. I can make out buildings in the distance... just remember, we don't know if there are any inhabitants, or if they're hostile."

Drenyir sighed. "You're crazy, but I don't see any other way. What do we do with Thorne, then?"

Bjorn walked back to the Breton, still mumbling incoherently and wavering in place. He shook him lightly, snapping Pyric back to reality. His blind eyes glanced around frantically, the terror painted across his face. Finally, they rested on Bjorn before he muttered something under his breath.

"I'm sorry..." he mumbled, taking a step backward. "This is my fault."

"Yes, it is," Bjorn answered, closing the distance with a step forward. "But something tells me we aren't getting out of here without you. So you're coming with us."

Pyric nodded, pulling a small dagger from his satchel. "You're right. Lead the way. I'll provide what aid I can."

Bjorn went first, dropping down from the stone to grip the chain. Without wind, the swaying was kept to a minimal, and the size of the links made it easy to walk along. Bjorn gestured for the others to follow his lead, and eventually all four of them were slowly making their way towards the city. Bjorn glanced down into the abyss below, which swirled violently like a whirlpool. Streaks of purple and orange flashed out of the cyclone, with crackles of lightning sparking from cloud to cloud. Above him, the sky churned the same way, except the orange clouds were replaced with deep blue ones. At the horizon, they met in a beautiful collision of colors, drifting into one another for as far as the eye could see. Bjorn could make out what looked like golden beams extending out to the horizon, disappearing into the distance. Occasionally, they would shine brightly, sending a glow from one of the cities out into the unknown. Pyric had been observing the same thing, and shook his head sadly.

"What does this all mean? Is this what Master Gane saw when he came through the portal, I wonder?" he wondered, stepping carefully to the next ring. "I wonder where he appeared... and where he is now."

Drenyir had caught up to Bjorn, nimbly stepping across the links with elegant precision. Bjorn turned to see the Dunmer gliding effortlessly over the chain, which made him smile. "You've got quick steps, Drenyir. Good to know."

"All those years being a hunter paid off, I guess. This is no different than jumping rocks upstream to catch deer." He took another look down into the churning void. "Okay, its a little different."

One of the horizon ropes flashed again, emanating from the city they were approaching. As the light flashed over the building tops, the rock shook vigorously, and in turned, made the chain waver precariously. Bjorn felt his footing slip, and suddenly the chain shook out from under him. He felt fingers close around his arm as Drenyir quickly caught him, pulling him back up onto the chain. "Don't worry, Frosthammer, I gotcha."

Bjorn climbed up and steadied himself. "Thanks for that. Lets get to the city before we're hit with another one of those."

The four quickly made it to the end of the chain and clambered up the side of the stone. As Bjorn pulled Mariah up onto flat ground, he could hear Pyric muttering about the structures that lay in front of them. "They're incredible..." he whispered, the awe apparent in his voice.

"These buildings show signs of Dwemer architecture, but seem far more advanced. But the craftsmanship is unmistakable."

Bjorn got Mariah to her feet before he joined the Breton in his observations. Now that they were level with the city, they could see a massive wall that surrounded the structures. "How do we plan on getting around that?"

Pyric didn't bother looking at him while he answered the question. "That does seem to be a problem. Perhaps there is a gate around one side, or maybe we could find a drainage gate. Which wouldn't make much sense considering the lack of water..."

"So you think we should look for a gate?"

"In due time, Bjorn. Remember what we're doing here. Accident or not, we have an opportunity to make great strides in understanding the Dwemer disappearance. For instance, in Tamriel, the Dwemer relied greatly on steam power, which requires a source of water. Without water here, how do they make such grand structures? How will their machines and automatons have changed because of this? I'm also curious as to where they got their metal. It still looks like Dwemer bronze, but I don't see any ore or veins here on the surface. Perhaps-"

"Its underground."

Pyric turned to see Drenyir and Mariah approaching. "Yeah, underground." Drenyir repeated, gesturing to the stone below their feet. "When we were climbing up I could hear tremors and machines below us. Perhaps these floating rocks aren't solid obsidian, or whatever, all the way through."

Pyric crossed his arms and resumed studying the buildings. "Yes, that is possible."

Bjorn noticed Mariah scribbling furiously in her notebook and approached to see what she was up to. Mariah looked up at him as he got closer, smiling warmly.

"Are you okay, Bjorn? I saw you take a spill on that chain."

"I'm alright, love," he answered, looking at her notebook over her shoulder. It was dotted with sketches of the environment and the cities, and every inch of the page was covered in notes and conjectures. "Keeping busy, I see."

Mariah closed the notebook and placed it in her satchel. "Of course I'm documenting this. When we get back, this will mean so much to scholars. I need to record as much as I can."

"I never said you didn't. I'm just a bit more keen on finding a way out. Once we have that, feel free to research as much as you please."

"I haven't forgotten that we're stranded. Trust me, my priorities are set. What now?"

"Pyric says we should look for some way in. We should start moving."

The group started moving again, following the wall around the city. Dwarven ballistas lined the top of the wall, but they did not respond at their approach. From the outside, the city seemed abandoned and empty. Eventually, they spied the arch of a gateway just ahead of them. Bjorn stopped the group and turned to them. "Like I said before, if there are inhabitants inside, we don't know how they'll react to us. So be ready for anything. Pyric and Mariah, I want spells ready to go. Drenyir, I want an arrow out of that quiver and your eyes sharp." Bjorn drew Godbane, which crackled with energy. "Ready? Lets go."

The gate was mammoth in size, dwarfing the group as they approached. Crafted of familiar dwarven bronze, it was not unlike the doors common in Tamriel's ruins. Bjorn examined the door, looking for some kind of handle, but there was no such feature. He stepped back, puzzled. The hinges around the outside linked to huge sets of gears, but there appeared to be no way to make them turn. Bjorn turned to the group.

"Anyone have any ideas?" he asked.

Drenyir cocked his head to the side as he answered. "It sounds ridiculous, but have you tried knocking yet?"

Bjorn's eyes narrowed in frustration, to which Drenyir simply shrugged. Bjorn returned to the door and set his ear to it. Just beyond the thick dwemer metal, he could hear the faint grinding of machinery, and... voices?

Bjorn took a cautious step back. He thought back to Drenyir's suggestion. Maybe it wasn't as crazy as it sounded. Signaling the group to ready themselves, Bjorn raised his hand to knock. Moments before his fist hit the metal, the doors screeched open inward, revealing a small platoon of figures clad head to toe in impressive Dwemer armor. The front rank was armed with pole-staffs, lowered to chest level, like an army would do to deter a cavalry charge. The ranks behind them were armed with crossbows, locked and ready to fire. Behind them, two Dwemer Centurions trundled forward, the typically plumes of steam replaced with a strange purple mist rising from the exhaust vents.

The group took a mystified step backwards, in awe of the approaching soldiers. Pyric stumbled to a knee, stupefied by the figures before him.

"_By the Eight..._" he whispered, his blind eyes locked on the armored platoon. "Are these...?"

"The Dwemer? Yes. But you are not the one who should be asking questions, Breton."

From the center of the group, a lavishly armored individual stepped forward, the defensive front rank breaking apart to make him a path. He stood about as tall as a typical Dark Elf or Imperial, but still shorter than Bjorn. Bjorn had remembered hearing stories about the Dwarves being a race of short, bearded elves, but this didn't appear to be the case. They actually appeared rather normal. The individual stopped a few paces from Bjorn, folding his hands behind his back after removing his helmet. He had a pale complexion, with signs of age etched into the wrinkles under his eyes. He had deep black hair with a receding hairline, and pointed ears like any other Mer. Rather than the massive beard Dwemer were normally associated with, this one was cut down to a modest circle beard. He spoke with clarity, with a voice that seemed to echo with authority.

"I am Lieutenant Baliguld, Defender of Sunder-Mzel, Capital of the Dwemer People. I will be blunt. You are intruders to a land in which you do not belong. Were it within my power, I would strike you down where you stood and throw you bodies down to Oblivion. But my Master wishes to extend limited greetings to you. We are to escort you to Emberfall Palace under criminal custody where the ForgeLord will place his sentence upon you."`

The crossbows in the rear ranks leveled on Bjorn and the others, and the Centurions behind them hissed menacingly. Bjorn and the others lowered their guard and approached the soldiers. A few of the Dwemer broke from formation and chained the group's wrists, preventing them from executing any kind of retaliation. The Lieutenant smiled at his prisoners and gestured for them to follow him as he turned back to the soldiers. Once they were within the walls, the gate groaned closed behind them.

Bjorn, Drenyir, Mariah, and Pyric were guided through the streets of the city surrounded by throngs of soldiers, not only to keep them from escaping, but to keep a growing crowd of interested civilians from getting too close. The street was carved out of the black stone the ground was made up of, outlined with a bronze border. All of the buildings seemed to follow traditional dwarven architecture, with foundations and walls made from stone bricks taken from the black rock they were built on, and features and towers flawlessly constructed from Dwemer bronze. The Dwarves on the streets hurried to the wall of soldiers, eager to get a glimpse of Bjorn and his friends. The male Dwemer were characterized by mage-like robes and scruffy black beards, whilst the women wore fine dresses and jewelry. Each of them spoke in hushed, excited tones, pointing fingers at the outsiders amongst the soldiers. Not a single dwarf was without some kind of mechanical device or magical tome, each one quickly scurrying away from the platoon to continue their work.

"Dammit, Bjorn.." Drenyir cursed. "Next time you decide to have an adventure, leave me out of it!"

* * *

After a few more minutes of walking, the street turned to face Emberfall Palace. It stood menacingly before them, taller and more fearsome than Understone Keep in Markarth. It's turrets bristled with crossbows, but many of them remained unmanned. Braziers lit with ominous purple flames accented the stairway up to the palace doors, which were opened by guards from the inside. At the top of the central spire, a gold beam of light shot out towards the horizon. Bjorn concluded that this must have been the rope-like projection stretching outward into the void that nearly shook them off the chain.

The central hall and throne room was not unlike the main hall in Khartagyllum, except what would've been ice and stone was replaced with bronze and jet black brick. The carpet leading to the elaborate throne was a royal purple, accented with gold trim. Atop the throne sat another dwarf, dressed in even more elaborate armor than Baliguld, and topped off by a billowing violet cape, twirling a small hammer in his hand.

The soldiers around Bjorn dispersed to the opposite sides of the walkway to form another defensive barrier, preventing the group from breaking off into one of the other rooms. Baliguld lined up Bjorn, Mariah, Drenyir, and Pyric and commanded them all to kneel.

"Before you is ForgeLord Draal, Supreme Monarch of the Ascended," he boomed, casting his gaze over the four of them, still bound in their chains. "You will speak only when spoken to, and only when the ForgeLord allows such responses. Failure to do so will result in death. Afterwards, the ForgeLord will extend to you your sentences for your trespass and intrusion into the realm of the Ascended, and for attempted entry into Sunder-Mzel without permission from the ForgeLord or a military official. Failure to comply to the ForgeLord's sentencing or interruption of the ForgeLord's sentences will result in-"

"_Death_. We get it," spat Drenyir, who glanced venomously up at the Lieutenant. Baliguld's eyes flared with rage, but as his hand grabbed the hilt of his sword, the ForgeLord spoke, deep and intimidating.

"Calm yourself, Lieutenant. You will not make the decision to have these trespasser's executed. Not before I have had a moment to speak to them."

ForgeLord Draal stepped off his throne and approached the group. He was heavily built, wide, but only slightly taller than the other dwemer Bjorn had encountered on the way over. Unlike Baliguld, Draal sported an impressive black beard that grew down to his knees. A head of black hair, kept organized by innumerable braids, was contained under an impressive crown, inlaid with shimmering blue-white crystals. Bjorn heard Mariah whisper something about the Aetherium Forge, but Bjorn was more focused on Draal to pick it up. His armor was not unlike Dwarven armor seen around Skyrim, yet the billowing violet cape and exquisite design gave off an air of royalty. In his right hand he gripped a unique Dwemer hammer, but Bjorn was puzzled at its size; no bigger than a carpenter's hammer from back home. Aside from its elegant craftsmanship, there didn't appear to be anything too impressive regarding its use as a weapon.

ForgeLord Draal eyed the group curiously before he smiled. His eyes were a misty grey that reflected decades, if not centuries, of experience. He spent a few moments studying Drenyir before he spoke again.

"Ah... a Chimer," he remarked, leaning in for a closer look. "At least, a descendant of one. What did Azura call your people after she cursed you? Dunmer, was it not? Its a pity your people abandoned the old ways... you were almost a respectable race when it came to defending our home against your friend here."

With that, he turned to Bjorn, staring him down with a malevolent gaze. "You... Nord," he hissed, folding his hands behind his back. "A despicable race of insubordinate Men that cast my people out of their homes. It was your kind that drove us deeper underground, and cursed us with the presence of the heathen Snow Elves. Why my people once chose to aid your hero, Tiber Septim, is beyond my sight."

After that statement, however, ForgeLord Draal resumed a facade of normalcy.

"So," he began, putting another smile on his face. "What brings you unlikely four to the Black Anvil, and to my city of Sunder-Mzel?"

Bjorn opened his mouth to speak, but Pyric spoke up first. His voice was shrill and rushed, but Bjorn couldn't tell if it was fear or excitement in his words.

"An accident, my Lord!" he explained, shuffling just a little closer. "The people of Tamriel, Men and Mer alike, are fascinated with your people. We simply wanted to know more. And after recreating a device that followed the magicka trail to this realm-"

"Stop right there, Breton. I am already satisfied with this answer, as well as the intelligence and.. audacity of the citizens of Tamriel. For your boldness, Breton, I will allow you one question pertaining to your given situation before your sentencing."

Pyric thought for a moment before speaking. "I won't trouble you with a lengthy explanation, but perhaps you can satisfy my curiosity. Why is this city named Sunder-Mzel, ForgeLord?"

Draal laughed heartily. "Because of this, my boy!" he shouted, holding the hammer high above his head. "This is Sunder, one of the two of Lord Kagrenac Tools, that has been touched by the Heart of Lorkhan. Upon our arrival to the Black Anvil, I rose above all other generals by crushing their skulls with this powerful tool. It seemed only fitting to name my capital after such legendary power."

ForgeLord Draal grinned and placed Sunder at his side. Bjorn remembered the stories of Sunder and Keening, and how the Nerevarine used them to silence the Sixth House in the Third Era. He glanced over at Drenyir to find pure shock painted across his face.

"I like you, Breton. So I shall not kill you for your crimes. Instead, you shall be sent to the Shattered Mines for work until death comes for you. Guards? Remove this man."

Two armored Dwemer broke from the path and carried Pyric out of the palace, the Breton shouting in terrified protest. Once the door to the palace had closed once more, Draal returned to Bjorn, Mariah, and Drenyir. His smile had disappeared, and pure anger was etched into every feature of his face.

"Don't think I have forgotten about you three," he growled, leaning down to eye level. "From the Black Anvil, I can see all of the realms. Aetherius, Oblivion, and Mundus alike. So I am well aware of your escapades to Atmora, Bjorn Frosthammer. I harbor bitter resentment for your kind... for your murderous, genocidal tendencies... so I will not kill you. Not here. You too are banished to the Shattered Mines, where I will work your bones to dust. And you, Drenyir Yamarith, will be joining him. Long have I waited to see the Chimer crushed, and now that you are weak and rejected by your god, I will use you as an example. Dwemer supremacy will be established over the Dunmer in due time. Until then, you will learn to fear us once again."

Finally, Draal turned to Mariah, who was doing her best to avoid eye contact with the menacing king. "Let it not be said that ForgeLord Draal was not sympathetic to the more fragile stature of females, let alone a mage. Instead of being used as a slave in my mines, you will be subjected to my Arena, pitted against the boldest champions the Dwemer can offer, as well as any other unfortunate races or creatures that stumble into my realm. I can feel a great power within you... a gift from the last King of Atmora. I am eager to see it used."

With the wave of his hand, more guards rushed forward to grab Bjorn and his friends. They disarmed Drenyir, tossing the Everfrost bow and his quiver into a chest toted by a nearby servant. Other guards took their satchels, leaving them only the clothes on their backs. One guard attempted to remove Godbane from Bjorn's hip, but the crackling energy blasted the Deep One across the room.

"Let him keep his toothpick!" Draal shouted, sitting back on his throne. "He'll find no use for it in the mines."

The guards picked up Drenyir and Bjorn and began dragging them towards the door as two others pulled Mariah away into a side room. Her eyes pleaded for help, but she dared not shout to avoid angering the guards. Bjorn's blood boiled, and he struggled free from the guard's grip. But before he could make it more than a few strides, he felt a sharp blow to the back of his head. As the world was consumed by blackness, he heard one last threat from the ForgeLord.

"When the destruction of your world comes, I will make sure you watch as they die. Until then, you belong to me."


	3. The Shattered Mines

Chapter 3

_The Shattered Mines_

Bjorn's eyes opened slowly, his surroundings becoming clearer. He sat in a cold, metal seat, jostling slightly, as if on a carriage. As the last clouds of haze lifted, he snapped his head up, alert.

"Hey, you're awake," called a voice across from him. Bjorn looked up to see a dirty but stoic looking dwarf, bound in chains. "You've been out for awhile now, outsider. How's your head feel?"

Bjorn put his hand to his head, feeling the gash where the sword hilt had come down on him. "I've been better," he answered, resting his elbows on his knees. "But I'll survive."

"Good to hear. You'll need your strength."

"Where are my friends?"

"You mean the Dark One and the Man? They're in the car ahead of us. Quite alright, I assure you."

Bjorn turned to the front, seeing a long caravan trekking across a massive bridge. Each carriage was built of dwemer metal, clattering along the bridge. Each one moved on it's own power, the same mystical glow Bjorn saw in the automatons emanating from vents at the head.

"There are no horses. No beasts of burden. How do they move..?"

The dwarf laughed. "I guess there's much you don't know, then. My name is Rourken."

"Bjorn Frosthammer. Pleased to meet someone with manners here."

"Likewise."

"Now, please explain these carriages, and anything else I should know about this place."

Rourken reclined and nodded towards the carriage train. "You may notice there isn't any water here. Without water, the steam power our kind relied on cannot exist. But the Anvil has gifted our kind with new tools with which to improve our civilization. Each automaton, which these carriages could be called, is powered by a rare crystal buried deep in these black masses. With them, they drive pistons with a magicka we have never seen before. We can do everything we could do with steam, and more."

"That's amazing."

"I know, I know. I was the one that discovered them."

"You? Then why-"

"Am I here? On this slave carriage to the Shattered Mines? Because I disagreed with our ForgeLord. Quite the temper on him."

"What'd you disagree on?"

"I wanted to use these gems for the betterment of our race. Draal wanted to use them to drive his war machine."

Before Bjorn could reply, the carriage ground to a halt. The caravan was parked next to a large crevasse, surrounded with metal scaffolding and pulleys. The city of Sunder-Mzel was far behind them now. With the caravan safely across, the bridge groaned and screeched, retracting in on itself. As the last few feet of the bridge disappeared, only the chains tethered this obsidian chunk to the foundation of the capital.

The guards driving the caravan walked around to the back, shouting the prisoners and miners out of the carriages, herding them down into the crevasse. One prisoner broke free and rushed towards the edge of the landmass, stopping at the lip. The guards rushed after him, swords drawn, but they hesitated when the Dwemer took a step over the edge. Bjorn saw him disappear over the ledge into the void below, after which the guards sheathed their blades and returned to corralling the prisoners.

"Why did he do that?" Bjorn asked, turning to Rourken.

"The Mines test the will and strength of every man," he answered, jumping down off the carriage. "Rather than be tortured by their own race, they prefer to be tested by the Daedra in their own realm, praying they'll fare better."

Bjorn searched for Drenyir and Pyric, just glimpsing them disappearing down into the mines. Once the guards were out of earshot, Rourken sauntered up beside him.

"Keep quiet and keep your head down. Stick with me and I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

Bjorn nodded silently as the guards pushed them down into the crevasse. Compared to the relatively mild air outside, the innards of the stone were blisteringly hot and reeked of strange magicka. Staircases cut into the stone led deep into the caverns, weathered by the travels of many pairs of feet. Rail systems wound in and out of various tunnels with self-propelled minecarts hauling black stone, bronze metal, and peculiar purple gems rushing to various unseen chambers. Off in the distance, the rumble of machinery could be heard, which Bjorn figured was some machine designed to dig out new tunnels.

Packed shoulder to shoulder, the crowd of laborers shuffled down the stairs and huddled into a large central cavern. Armored guards with contraptions that appeared to be crossbows without strings patrolled the chamber from elevated platforms supported by metal scaffolding. As the disheveled prisoners stood murmuring, a distinguished dwarf addressed the crowd from the central scaffolding. With a black whip in one hand and one of the strange crossbow devices in the other, he scanned the crowd, the disgust apparent in his aged eyes.

"Attention! Attention, you ingrates!" he boomed, leaning on the rail over his flock. "I am Warden Cragin, your master in the Shattered Mines. I will begin by saying I take no shame in condemning my own kind to the mines. A Dwemer that commits treason, or does not provide a useful skill to the empire, is no use to us. The old, the blind, the sick, and the unskilled. All you are good for is swinging a pick at the stone. But I can see that not all in our group are Dwemer. There are three here, all outsiders. Two men and a Chimer, though none of you may recognize him. To you three individuals, I warn you that you will find no sympathy here. To all of you, as you enter the mines you will be given your pick and sent to work, and here you will work until the strength leaves you. Dismissed."

The guards shoved the mass of prisoners forward, funneling them into the mines through a narrow passageway. Pushed into a single file line, one guard distributed pick-axes to each worker and pushed them through a thick metal gate.

"Quite a character, that Warden, eh?" Rourken joked, watching Cragin disappear into a tunnel up on the scaffolding.

Bjorn thought for a moment about the Warden. He appeared to be an older dwarf, one who had seen many years and had many experiences. The darkness of the mines had given him slightly paler skin, and what was once a grand black beard had withered to a scraggly grey scruff that hung down to his shoulders. As old as he seemed, the Warden appeared to be built like a younger man, strong and tall, with impeccable posture and authority. His armor was not ornate, but appeared to serve only for practical purposes, seemingly cobbled together by whatever pieces were available.

"I have a feeling this is not the last we'll be seeing of Warden Cragin," Bjorn muttered.

Once Bjorn reached the distributor, the guard cautiously eyed Godbane, which hung expectantly at Bjorn's hip. With one gesture, another guard approached and was assigned to Bjorn as a safety precaution. Once he, his supervisor, and Rourken had entered the actual mine shaft, they broke off into one of the many endless tunnels, the unmistakable sound of working picks echoing through the caverns. In front of Bjorn and Rourken was a vein of dull bronze metal, which Rourken explained was a material incredibly similar to the Dwemer metal in Tamriel.

"After you," he grinned. "You have first swing."

Bjorn sighed and turned to the wall, raising his pickaxe above his head. With a swift swing, he brought the pick down on the stone, which clinked disappointingly and scraped off a few pebbles.

"Oh for the love of Talos..." he sighed, taking another swing. "Is it like this all over?"

Rourken laughed as he watched Bjorn struggle with the wall. "Welcome to the Shattered Mines! There's a reason people are here forever." And with that, the Dwemer hoisted his pick and began helping.

After a few hours, the pile of jet black pebbles had grown in size up to Bjorn's knees. The hours had passed with no words exchanged between the two, with Bjorn's supervisor intently watching him as they worked. Disregarding the silent guard, he turned to Rourken and attempted to create conversation, as well as find out a bit more about the Anvil.

"Earlier," he began, taking another swing, "you said some Dwemer would rather be judged by Daedra than be imprisoned by their own kind. How exactly do they go about doing that?"

Rourken chuckled, staggering backwards to rest his arms. "You noticed the swirling voids above and below the Anvil, correct?"

"That I did. Quite a sight."

"Well, they aren't just pretty clouds, you know. The fiery one below us is a gateway to their realm. And the blue one above us? Thats Aetherius."

"The Anvil was said to be built between the two worlds..."

"Precisely. Anyway, they're gateways, not windows. Doors to their world. Should someone fall off an Anvil stone, they plummet directly into Oblivion. There, they will either be saved and have their souls tested by whichever Daedra they're unlucky enough to encounter, or they will simply fall through it, landing with a splat on whatever hard surface they hit first."

"So is there a way into Aetherius, then?"

"Theoretically, yes. But falling up, isn't really an option, is it, Bjorn? I suppose one of our airships could pass through... but the Aedra are heretic gods and false idols. We have no dealings with them."

"And the gold links stretching to the horizon; what of them?"

"Those, Bjorn, are what keeps the Aedra from destroying the Anvil. When we Dwemer appeared here, the only thing we found was a diagram, written in archaic script the likes of which not seen since before the Aedra built the Adamantine Tower. Turns out this diagram was the plans left by Magnus on how to maintain Nirn from the spiritual realm. So, seeing this as our opportunity to secure our place here, our race, numbering in the tens of thousands, set out to keep Nirn from falling into disrepair from right here in the Anvil. Because it saved the Aedra the effort of doing it themselves, they left us alone, so long as we continued to keep the world from collapsing in on itself."

"Magnus' blueprints? Impossible..."

"Thats what we all thought, but there they were. The only recognizable thing in the realm."

"So where'd your people go from there?"

"After the discovery of the plans, thats when Draal began systematically eliminating his competition. After the bodies of his military officers were thrown into the void, he decreed that following the plans should be the task of the Dwemer. After all, we needed some kind of task to keep ourselves busy. Us dwarves are always thinking of the future; never the present."

"How did you discover the metals beneath the surface?"

"The plans told us, believe it or not. We lacked tools at first, with the exception of dwarves who arrived with picks and shovels already in hand. ForgeLord Draal used the power of Sunder to create this chasm we call the Shattered Mines and commanded us to dig. This shaft we're in now is one of hundreds; part of a system that has been thousands of your years in the making. Once the chasm was open, the few who were prepared opened the veins and soon a steady flow of metals were coming out of the mines. Our grasp of magicka allowed us to melt it down, forming it into casts to make tools, weapons, bricks, cogs... whatever we would need. Then we found the crystals. The crystals are placed in resonation chambers in each city's central spire. The crystals systematically exert energy, which is channeled out through the links to places all across Nirn."

Bjorn's guard stepped forward, pushing Rourken to the ground. "Enough of that talk, laborer," he growled, stepping back once more. "The outsider doesn't need to know that much."

Rourken staggered to his feet and spat at the guard, who remained unmoving.

"Whatever you say, sir, but with all due respect, I'm gonna keep talking."

The guard voiced no objections. Met with silence, Rourken smiled and picked up his pick again. "Let me ask you something, Bjorn."

"Its not like I can say no, can I?"

"Not a chance. Have you noticed you haven't been hungry? Or plagued by thirst?"

Now that Rourken mentioned it, Bjorn did notice that the simplest of necessities had not registered with him since he got here.

"Strange, right?" Rourken continued, heaving his pick into the stone. "While we don't know why, the Anvil makes it so we need any food nor water. The only thing we're limited by is our strength, which dwindles the longer we work. We can sleep, sure, but its not like they'll let us here. We think maybe its because this is a spirit realm, not a physical world like Nirn. Here we labor as somewhere in between: soulss simply manifested as recognizable, physical forms. A soul has no need to eat or drink, but can lose strength the longer it has to keep it's 'husk' working."

Bjorn nodded, absorbing the information. Raising his pickaxe high as he'd done so many times, his swing finally sheared off a chunk of the black stone, exposing the huge deposit of bronze metal. Rourken and Bjorn exchanged swings, cleaving off large hunks of ore, which tumbled into a pile at their feet. When a sizeable about of metal had been collected, Rourken turned to the guard.

"All done at this vein. Can you send for a cart, please?"

The guard hesitated before stepping out into the shaft, calling for a cart to be sent down to them. Bjorn and Rourken began hauling the ore to the edge of the tunnel, waiting for it to be picked up and shipped somewhere deeper in the mines.

"Besides my own lapdog here," Bjorn started, gesturing towards the guard, who bided his time dragging his foot through the dust, "there are no guards in the shaft. Do they trust us that much?"

Rourken almost fell over laughing, supporting himself on his pick. Once he caught his breath, he turned to Bjorn. "_Trust?_" he laughed, bending over to grab another hunk of ore. "There is no 'trust' here. There's simply... no way out. If the prisoners start killing each other, the Warden doesn't care. There is only one gate out of this shaft and its locked tight, and there are plenty of guards on the other side of that gate with magnicasters ready to pick us off..."

"Magnicasters? I knew the dwarves were adept, to an extent, with magicka, but I never knew they had battlemages."

"Magnicasters are not battlemages, Bjorn. You are familiar with our crossbows, yes? A magnicaster works in a similar way. Only instead of a bolt, a small ball of metal is fitted into the firing tube. At the pull of a trigger, a powerful field is exerted from one of the Anvil's crystals installed at the rear of the firing tube. A heavy casing protects the marksman from the blast, but most of the force is exerted down the tube, pushing the ball out of the chamber and through the air at terrifying speeds with great stopping power. Like I said, the Anvil allows our race to do great things."

"You did say Draal wanted to build up a war machine..."

"That I did."

"A few hundred of those in the hands of Tamriel's best marksmen could spell doom for any opposing army. But why do you need them here?"

"I don't know why he would need these devices, let alone so many of them. Unless our ForgeLord suspects something coming on horizon."

Once all the ore in the pile had been delivered, Bjorn's guard ordered them back to work on the vein. Rourken eyed Godbane dangling at Bjorn's hip, and with one look, Bjorn knew what his Dwemer friend wanted to do.

"You know, I'm getting real sick of you," Rourken groaned, dropping his pick. "Standing there, silently judging us. Just remember, you're just as vulnerable and alone down here as we are."

The guard seemed puzzled at first, then concern began growing in his eyes. Then fear. As the guard fumbled to draw his sword, Bjorn pulled Godbane from its sheathe, slashing the guard across the chest, the glimmering blade rending the armor like parchment. The guard toppled forward and was caught by Bjorn and Rourken to avoid the clatter of his armor on the ground. Once the guard was safely tucked away in an obscure crevasse and Rourken had procured his sword, the two stepped out into the shaft.

Hundreds of dwarves labored endlessly to dig out black stone, ore, and gems from the rock. The relentless sound of picks and minecarts made it hard for Bjorn to hear his own thoughts. But above the clatter, Bjorn could make out a distinct accent coming from deeper down the shaft. Hurrying down the stairway, Bjorn and Rourken followed the aggressive outbursts until the complaints were heard clearly at the end of another tunnel. Within, Bjorn found Drenyir and Pyric, methodically chipping away at a crystal patch as the Dark Elf swore loudly. An unconscious dwarf lay at his feet, a small trickle of blood seeping down a swollen lip. With his pick raised high, Drenyir turned to the tunnel mouth, seeing Bjorn and Rourken watching patiently.

"Well its about damn time the cavalry showed up," Drenyir complained, dropping his pickaxe on the Dwemer man with a dull thud. "Please tell me you got a plan to get out of 'ere. The clatterin' of these picks is driving me nuts."

"What happened to him?" Bjorn asked, nudging the dwarf's body with his foot.

"Swit tried to off me, claiming he wouldn't work with a dirty Chimer." He spat on the body, which stirred just a little. "I taught him good."

Pyric turned to the three of them, a small frown etched on his face. "Terribly sorry to inform you," he began, presenting his wrists which were clasped with strange glowing bracers. "But they've bound me in slave bracers... meaning my skills with magic are of no use in our escape plan until they are removed."

Drenyir shot him an aggravated look. "Well, you weren't going to be much use anyway, I'd suspect."

Rourken stepped forward. He stood about as tall as Drenyir, meeting him at eye level. Of course, Rourken had his characteristic smile plastered on his face as he extended his hand to the Dunmer. "Greetings, Dark Elf," he began, retracting his hand as it became apparent that Drenyir would not return the gesture. "Before we begin, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Rourken, the once chief scientist and researcher at Emberfall Palace."

"Pleasures mine, I assure you."

Rourken looked around the tunnel before peering back out into the mineshaft. The situation had not changed, with hundreds of laborers working tirelessly, and not a single guard to be found. Rourken clapped his hands together and smiled.

"Well, we've got a bit of a wait, but I think I know a way out. But we'll need help."


End file.
